


William Sherlock's Favorite Christmas

by beautiful_aurora



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Holmes childhood, Short & Sweet, christmas ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 23:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8867701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautiful_aurora/pseuds/beautiful_aurora





	

Mycroft had always been a doting older brother. At a young age, Mycroft became wise to the whole Father Christmas/Santa tradition, but now at age 14, though he no longer believed in a benevolent deliverer of annual gifts, he was absolutely devoted to the idea of providing his little brother William Sherlock an ideal Christmas experience if he could. At this time of year, that included having a magical Christmas. Part of that magic included letters to Santa.

It was the end of term, so Mycroft was home from school. 7-year-old William Sherlock was in his bedroom, carefully arranging small vials of soil samples which he kept on a shelf near his window in the order of geographical area of origin (south to north). Mycroft carefully padded his way to his brother’s door, and knocked softly with his outstretched toe.

“C’min!”  
“I brought mulled cider. What are you doing, Little Bee?”  
“Come see! I’m putting these in the order of where I collected them, south to north”  
“Oh, good idea. Nice collection. Here, hold carefully, this is hot.”

The boys sat on the window seat in content silence, blowing steam off their mugs, and savoring the apple scent as they waited for their drinks to cool. Outside, fat, heavy snowflakes had just begun to fall.

“So, Bee, have you made a list of what you’d like for Christmas?”  
“Mycroft, why should I make a list? There’s no such thing as Santa, you know there isn’t!  
“I know no such thing, dear brother. And, making a wish list is one of the best parts of Christmas!”

***

After dinner, the Holmes parents led their stodgy dinner guests into the study for drinks and hushed conversation. Mycroft had always been intrigued by the quiet, secret, polished world of the adults. Sherlock had not. The two of them snuck an extra raspberry tart each off of Cook’s tray before it was whisked away to the kitchen, then headed out to the atrium, which was their favorite hangout spot ever since Sherlock was old enough to follow Mycroft around.

There was a cement bench near one of the glass walls. In the chilly winter weather, a small heater warmed the space; the air inside was rich with the scent of warm, loamy soil.  
Mycroft turned to Sherlock.  
“Your list Sherlock, let’s hear your list!”  
Sherlock reeled off a list of scientific equipment, books, and maps, and also mentioned a toy or two for his dog, Redbeard.  
“I think you might have lots to look forward to on Christmas morning, Bee!” grinned Mycroft.

***  
Christmas morning dawned snow-bright with sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling, velvet-draped library windows. On the tree, the golden, music-themed ornaments sparkled. Under the tree sat an array of festively wrapped packages. William Sherlock was beside himself with excitement. Mycroft had long ago adopted a facade of prim haughtiness as his main expression, but the high color on his cheeks contrasted with his outer cool. His eyes surveyed the gifts under the tree, excited to note by the dangling tags that a few of the larger packages were for him.

The parents swept in laughing at a shared joke, dressing gowns fluttering, the scent of luxurious grooming products in their wake. They each settled comfortably in mocha leather library chairs by the sunny windows near the Christmas tree. Croissants and coffee waited on a small table at their elbows between the chairs. Next to the silver breakfast tray sat two steaming mugs of peppermint cocoa, whipped cream still standing in peaks. The boys each took a mug, then claimed an area on the rug near the tree. Redbeard loped in from outside and with a canine sigh, dropped down in front of the hearth, and curled into a sleeping ball.  
Mr. Holmes adjusted his bowtie and leaned forward and with an expressive cough. He winked at each of his boys, then began sorting and distributing the gifts.

Mycroft was thrilled with each of his gifts. In addition to a complete set of 20th Century British Legal Findings, his parents gave him a season pass to the Royal Museum of Spy Artifacts. Next he removed snowman wrapping paper from a fat parcel to reveal a thick envelope from Little Sherlock. On the front of the manila envelope, in a juvenile yet sophisticated hand was written,  
“To My Brother, who will one day protect us all” and inside was an original and detailed play called The Iceman, about a brilliant young man of 14 who is a secret but essential Bond-esque player in the British Government.  
Mrs Holmes clapped her hands in amusement and gushed, “Oh, my brilliant boys!”

William Sherlock's gift from Mycroft was an actual working sextant. He was stunned into silence to receive such a gift from his idol.

Favorite gifts in hand, the boys moved nearer to the sunlight streaming through the window, sipped their cocoa and in hushed and excited tones discussed what kind of mysteries they might solve as the clever agent from Sherlock’s play, making use of an actual, working sextant.  
It was a prefect Christmas morning. In later years, when his brilliant, whirling mind provided him the sanctuary of a Mind Palace for storing and revisiting his memories, William Sherlock cherished his magical childhood Christmases spent with Mycroft and with his parents.


End file.
